


Seasonal depression and the guy that killed my ex-wife

by YourFatherCas



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aaron Hotchner is a Mess, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gay, Gay Male Character, George Foyet being a jackass, I DONT MAKE THE RULES, I am The Writer, M/M, OOC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, This is mess, Writer is a hot mess, crack ship, everyone is ooc, its my fanfiction i can write it how i want, no beta we die like men, so is this fic, tagging is hard, they're gay fam, well i do make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourFatherCas/pseuds/YourFatherCas
Summary: Yet here he is, standing in his living room at 2am in his pajamas, with George-fucking-Foyet raiding his fridge. He had shown up at the door, disheveled, and bleeding. The only words to come out of his mouth before nearly busting his head open on the pavement were, “Miss me, Aaron?” The audacity of this psycho...I started writing this one night and decided to keep going. There's no posting schedule, so sorry if I fall off the face of the earth. This is very much crack so don't come at me. :) have a good day lovelies.
Relationships: George Foyet/Aaron Hotchner
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Seasonal depression and the guy that killed my ex-wife

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is short af but who cares. I wrote this out of personal preference. Hope you heathens enjoy my *✲ﾟ*｡⋆ bad writing *✲ﾟ*｡⋆

Life was fucked.

Hotch knew that.

He knows better than this.

Yet here he is, standing in his living room at 2am in his pajamas, with George-fucking-Foyet raiding his fridge. He had shown up at the door, disheveled, and bleeding. The only words to come out of his mouth before nearly busting his head open on the pavement were, “Miss me, Aaron?” The audacity of this psycho. 

He should’ve called his team, the police, anyone, really. But instead he let the nut in and helped him stitch up a stab wound. He said he was mugged, and honestly, he wished he was the one to mug him. It’s been years since Haley died, and Jack’s at his aunts for the weekend, so why not let the son of a bitch in.

He sighs and goes into the kitchen to keep an eye on the murderer in his apartment. He’s a government agent, but he honestly couldn't give two shits right now. He’s pretty sure Jessica’s is going to try to get custody of Jack. He can’t blame her either. His job has him taking too many late nights, and his mood has been spiralling the whole month. The team is worried about him, he can tell from the pitying looks, and the cookies Garcia leaves on his desk before she leaves.

Foyet was standing against the counter eating yogurt - regular, plain vanilla - out of the tub. What a ridiculous thing to do. Now he can’t have any of it because of germs and shit.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch like a perve or are you gonna say something?” Foyet asks, a smirk on his face.

Hotch scoffs. “Just making sure you don’t touch the knives.”, he says dryly. It was only half the truth, he was also trying to figure out why he was here.

Foyet shrugs and eats more yogurt. “Sure, Aaron”, he mumbles. Sitting the tub of yogurt down, he stands as straight as he can with the wound in his side. “So, tell me Hotchner, why haven’t you called your little team?”

Hotch narrows his tired gaze at the man,”Who’s to say I haven’t already?”

Foyet steps towards him, smirk ever present on his face.”You haven’t touched your phone at all since I’ve been here,” Hotch steps back, face staying stoic and tired. Foyet takes another step forward, Hotch not stepping back this time.

“What if I didn’t, you can’t do anything anyways.” Hotch steps forward this time, “How about you tell me why you’re here Foyet?”

Foyet quirks a brow at Hotch's question. “Can’t I stop by my best buds place?” They’re only about three feet apart by now. Foyet can’t help but wonder how this night will end. Hotchner hasn’t made any aggressive moves yet, but Foyet is still too physically drained and could probably only last a few minutes in a fight.

Hotchner knew he had the upper hand at the moment, it felt nice to know he could hit that face one more time before arresting him. Was he going to arrest him? It started to seem more and more unlikely as the seconds passed. 

He takes a levelled breath. “I want you gone before I wake up.” I’m going to regret this.

Foyet’s face sports confusion, then quickly to glee. “Oo, a sleepover!”

I already am, jesus.. Hotch think as he leaves the kitchen, leaving Foyet with a huge grin on his face and a spoon full of fucking plain vanilla yogurt.


End file.
